A Gentleman a verie friend of mine, Hath a young wife and she is monstrous fine, Shee’s of the new fantastique humor right, In her attire an angell of the light. Is she an Angell? I: it may be well, Not of the light, she is a light Angell. Forsooth his doore must suffer alteration, To entertaine her mightie huge Bom-fashion, A hood’s to base, a hat which she doth male, With bravest feathers in the Estridge tayle. She scornes to treade our former proud wives traces. That put their glory in their on faire faces, In her conceit it is not faire enough, She must reforme it with her painters stuffe, And she is never merry at the heart, Till she be got into her leatherne Cart. Some halfe amile the Coach-man guides the raynes, Then home againe, birladie she takes paines. My friend seeing what humours haunt a wife, If he were loose would lead a single life. _A poore Mans pollicy._ Next I will tell you of a poore mans tricke, Which he did practise with a polliticke, This poore man had a Cow twas all his stocke, Which on the Commons fed: where Catell flocke, The other had a steere a wanton Beast, Which he did turne to feede amongst the rest. Which in processe although I know not how, The rich mans Oxe did gore the poore mans Cow. The poore man heereat vexed waxed sad, For it is all the living that he had, And he must loose his living for a song, Alas he knew not how to right his wrong. He knew his enemie had pointes of law, To save his purse, fill his devouring mawe, Yet thought the poore man how so it betide, Ile make him give right sentence on my side. Without delay unto the Man he goes, And unto him this fayned tale doth gloze, (Quoth he) my Cow which with your Oxe did feede, Hath kild your Oxe and I make knowne the deede. Why (quoth my Politique) thou shouldst have helpt it rather, Thou shalt pay for him if thow wert my father. The course of law in no wise must be stayde, Least I an evill president be made. O Sir (quoth he) I cry you mercy now, I did mistake, your Oxe hath gorde my Cow: Convict by reason he began to brawle, But was content to let his action fall. As why? (quoth he) thou lookst unto her well, Could I prevent the mischiefe that befell? I have more weightie causes now to trie, Might orecomes right without a reason why. _Epigram._